[center][h1][color=crimson]Ki'Tlex[/color] [/h1][/center] [hr] Ki'Tlex had long ago figured out the secret to dealing with long trips in cramped ships: sit down, shut up and get some sleep. Unless you were actively dodging asteroids, missiles, or solar flares there was very little work that went into piloting when in open space, leaving you with far too much time and not enough to spend it on. Complaining wouldn't do more than annoy other travelers, making it a good way to get pushed out the airlock but a bad way to cope. It was better to suffer boredom in silence to keep rising tempers from joining the miserable affair. Kottle had not learned that lesson yet. Whatever rudimentary thoughts passed through the infant's head were expressed frequently and loudly, gurgling screams and screechy groans echoing off the bulkhead whenever they weren't sleeping. Ki had made the requisite apologies for their charge's behavior which was about as much as they could do. The infant cried out again as the ship approached Mother, the rudimentary rise and fall in pitch telling Ki two things: Kottle was learning the basics of their shared language, and they were hungry. The adoptive parent sought to encourage Kottle's growing vocabulary, answering the pitiful whining with proper whistling. A remarkable amount of information could be conveyed through the bird-like language but Ki kept it simple: [i][color=crimson]<>[/color][/i] That was a process best done hidden under their cloak. Regurgitation was the natural way Kel'ta fed their young but humans were prone to being weird about it. They emerged just as Nero the Self-Assured answered Alan the Pale's question, wiping their mouth clean with the back of a hand while the other three busied themselves in reswaddling Kottle. [color=crimson]"It depends on the crew and the circumstances. I and you are in civilized space right now, a military-class vessel bristling with weapons would make any half-decent sensor array light up like fireworks. If they are smart they'll likely be in a secondary shuttle, something inconspicuous. Maybe even multiple ships that will split up and meet somewhere later."[/color] The idea of parity between pirate and assassin made them hum, their equivalent of laughter. [color=crimson]"If the assassin in question is bad? Perhaps. Pirates expect open combat, even if they don't want it. They choose the wealthiest targets that are the least defended so that they can enrich themselves with minimal risk. More importantly, they are largely self-centered. But an assassin is taking a side in some conflict or another, even if only for money. They seek to kill someone of political or martial significance. An assassin who takes no sides is called a spree killer, and they're generally frowned upon."[/color] They were highly qualified to speak on the subject. After all, they themselves were a pirate, a pirate with the memories of an assassin that had died long ago. Alan the Pale caught their attention, Ki's curiosity enough to make them consider the boy's strange appearance even if they were polite enough to keep from staring. As they understood it, white hair and red eyes were not common in creatures from Earth. Albinism was a genetic defect that made creatures more visible to predators and worsened vision. And while humans had progressed to the point that such a condition was manageable in day-to-day life it was still strange to see it in a supposed soldier. Although...Alan the Pale's features weren't as pronounced as they would have expected. Perhaps it was a quirk of the tricks played on his genetics. [center][h1][color=orange]Queen Anne's Revenge[/color][/h1][/center] [hr] Anne didn't like to second-guess Best Buddy Ki, and second-guessing Best Buddy Ki's friends was basically second-guessing Best Buddy Ki themselves. But she was a battle-bot, loaded up with all sorts of interesting information on the best ways to wage war and crush insurrections, not to mention the tips and tricks she had picked up from her Pirate Pals. And all of this information, all the after-action reports, historical accounts, and simulation results churned down into a stream of measurable data, it all pointed to a hard fact: this was really bad. Moonstrike was shooting at Moonstrike...no, Moonstrike was being shot at by other people who weren't Moonstrike but worked with Moonstrike and now wanted Moonstrike dead. [color=orange]"Hey, quick question: if all these groups don't want us in charge anymore how come we're still in charge?"[/color] It was a genuine question spoken with no malice even if the harshness of her preprogrammed tone took suggested otherwise. [color=orange]"Since we're fighting a like, evil empire right? If we're the good guys we should listen when a whole bunch of people are angry about our mistakes. Also if we kill a bunch of them and they kill a bunch of us then there's going to be no one to fight the bad guys. Or uh, the other bad guys. Since we're kinda the bad guys right now."[/color] The appeal to pacifism was undercut somewhat by the last-minute weapon checks Anne was performing, the machine running down the list of ammunition stored throughout her body. There was certainly enough for her primary, and the secondary so kindly supplied by the kid on the ship had enough fuel to melt through quite a few unfortunate souls. The spaceboat lurched into the fray and Anne clapped her hands with glee, a mechanical giggle rumbling from her speakers as she automatically activated her Magnetize spell. With her boots firmly planted on the deck she could stare at all the pretty lasers shooting back and forth outside. [color=orange]"I can't really do a lot in here but if you want I can float over to a ship, start smashing it up inside."[/color] That would require opening the door which would be bad for anyone standing by her, but they could always just not do that.